


To Serve

by Anonymous



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Rape, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-19 15:31:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2393549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Gwaine were in a sexual relationship before the knight was taken captive by Morgana. After Arthur rescues him, Arthur notices that, more often than not, Gwaine doesn't seem to feel up to having sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: rape/non con

Arthur pants for breath, circling Percival again. Percival looks tired, and he drops his guard a moment, arm wavering, so Arthur ducks in, spins to take his feet out, and then gets a knee in Percival’s chest and a sword at his throat, using his free foot to kick Percival’s sword away. 

“I give!” Percival says, trying to shove Arthur off when his sword finds a less worrying position away from Percival’s flesh. 

Arthur sits on Percival’s chest, breathing hard, and rubs a hand over his face.

“It’s too hot,” he says, looking around. 

No one else is sparring, having taken his own sit down as an excuse to collapse in sweaty heaps. Percival shoves again and Arthur gets to his feet to avoid falling on his arse. He considers his men and then considers himself. 

“Right!” he calls, “once more! Elyan, partner Percival, Leon, I want a word.”

Leon and Percival swap places and the knights groan, but get to their feet and start off once more. Leon looks pleased at having a break, but Arthur’s going to fix that fast enough. 

“I want you to look over the guard for the next few nights. Last night was the third time we had sir Lovall up to fill in,” Arthur says. 

“I’ll see to it, sire,” Leon says. 

“Good. Now, let’s go.”

Leon starts to walk away, but Arthur raises his sword and coughs, and takes great delight in the disappointment and reproach in Leon’s eyes that never will pass his lips. At least he has one knight who is still diffident to him. Leon bows and they circle, swords up. 

Ten minutes later Leon lets Arthur beat him and lies prostrate on the ground, groaning about the heat. The sun is beating down, and Arthur is hot, and they have worked hard today. He feels like he can allow them this, seeing as he pushed them last time. He nods. 

“Right. Get out of your armour and you can have at the pump.”

The knights all show more vigour and energy all of a sudden, and there’s a mad rush and race to the armoury, a clamouring and stamping and yelling as the men are shoved into a small space and trip over one another, armour clattering around them. They leave the place a huge mess and stampede out to the water pump.

Arthur takes his time changing, keeping quiet and half concealed in his corner. The squires know he’s there, but he’s quiet and they sometimes forget. He watches and listens and makes note that Sir Gwaine is going to need a new squire within the week. He makes a few more changes in his head and then follows the others out to the water. 

The men have made mud of the ground around the pump, and they’re all sticky and dirty with it, but they’re laughing happily. Arthur goes to stand with Merlin, who’s observing, squinting into the mass with a furrowed brow. 

“Who are looking at?” Arthur asks, also squinting around. 

“Ah!” Merlin says, spinning, losing his footing. 

Arthur has a split second to decide whether to let Merlin fall on his arse or not. His mood’s good enough that he catches the man and steadies him. 

“You prat!” Merlin says.

“Hey,” Arthur says, taken aback, “I saved you.”

“After scaring me half to death!”

Arthur blinks. 

“I didn’t know you were stood there,” Merlin explains, looking a bit sheepish, “sorry, sire. You startled me.”

“Ah,” Arthur says, grinning, “so who _were_ you looking for, before you turned into a flappable maid?”

“I did not-“ Merlin stops himself and takes a deep breath, “I was looking for you. You have duties that need attending, and a sitting of your council that you didn’t bother with so you have people to soothe, and-“

Gwaine interrupts by throwing a handful of mud Merlin’s way. Merlin dodges, but the spurt of water that follows hits Arthur instead. Arthur looks down at his wet clothes, thinks about Merlin’s list of duties, looks at the tumble of knights, looks at Merlin-

“Don’t you dare, sire,” Merlin says.

\- And then runs into the fray, tackling Gwaine and getting him into the mud. They slide about for a while, drenching one another, and then sit against the wall while Leon tries get them clean by drenching them further. 

“Come on,” Arthur says, noticing Merlin’s distracted for the moment, “quickly!”

He tugs Gwaine up and they run, and keep on running until they get to the upper meadow, the one that looks down on the castle and the town, then they collapse, laughing, and lie side by side in the sun, panting. 

“You’re a terrible influence on me, sir Gwaine,” Arthur says. 

“I have no responsibility for this,” Gwaine says, sounding amused, “this is all you. I was trying to get Merlin, not you.”

“Liar. That’s just a defence you created in case I was cross about the water.”

Gwaine heaves himself over on top of Arthur, hands already getting busy on Arthur’s sides and shoulders, pausing at his chest to get ties and to rub at Arthur’s nipple. 

“Are you really upset about that?” Gwaine asks, face close, lips, breath- Arthur kisses him. 

He lets Gwaine have his way for a while, enjoying his clever fingers, his practised mouth, the way he knows the right places, but then he turns them so he’s straddling Gwaine, which is much better. He gets his own back then, the sun soaking into his naked skin, suffusing him with heat and colour and energy. 

He strips Gwaine, then goes over his body, reverently, brushing the scars and bruises, the dent in his side from his armour that’s from today, the new scrape on his cheek, the new bruise at his knee. He kisses, runs fingers, explores, moving and rocking and then turning them again, keeping his legs around Gwaine’s waist.

“We need… something,” Gwaine says, fingers busy at Arthur’s back, “oh, no, we don’t. You, Arthur! You little hussy!”

Arthur smiles at Gwaine’s glee. In actuality it is pure luck that he’s covered in oil, and it’s more from the massage he had this morning because of a sore shoulder than for this, but Gwaine doesn’t need to know that. Besides, the oil in the particular place Gwaine is working, is from the experiment with candles that he thought the accidentally left oil-

Arthur’s thoughts are scattered by Gwaine’s fingers. 

“Uh,” he says, fingers scrabbling at Gwaine’s shoulder, the uncomfortable stretch his least favourite bit of this. 

Gwaine hums, soothing, slowing his work and changing his focus to the rest of Arthur’s body- his thighs, his stomach, hips, kissing his chest, down to his rib cage, hand working his prick and balls. Arthur closes his eyes and breathes out.

“Better,” Gwaine says, fingers moving in his arse again, smiling, “that’s it.”

“Mm,” Arthur agrees, as Gwaine gets deeper and starts finding nerves to stimulate as he goes. 

He lets his head fall back and moves his hips, one hand on Gwaine’s shoulder the other resting in the grass, the alternate points of touch grounding him, and lets Gwaine get on with it, lets him do the work for a bit. When he starts to drift on the sensations he digs his heels into Gwaine’s arse and Gwaine moves up, aligning their hips, pressing their mouths together. 

It’s hot and bright, Gwaine’s lips and tongue taking all the attention as he presses gently in. He pauses, halfway, and gives Arthur a moment to adjust, thighs trembling, feet planted on the floor now. Arthur shivers, eyes wide, sun and Gwaine and sensation drowning him. He’s prickling, tingling all over, the breeze and grass, the heat of the day, the heat of Gwaine…

“Uh,” he says again, “uh….”

“Arthur?” Gwaine asks, running a thumb firmly over Arthur’s cheek bone to get his attention.

“Mmm,” Arthur says, “good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Gwaine nods and moves again, all the way in, kissing and breathing and hands busy. Arthur waits for Gwaine to pause again, then breathes deep and grips Gwaine’s hips, encouraging him to move, digging into the muscle there. He brings his head up so he can be face to face with Gwaine instead of the sun and presses close, breathing, getting Gwaine’s lip between his teeth, kissing him. Gwaine thursts a few times, then pauses again, trembling. Arthur lets him pull out a bit, then turns them again so he’s on top. 

It’s much better that way, the sun on his shoulders and back again, straddling Gwaine. He lowers himself back down and starts to move, rocking the way he knows Gwaine likes. 

It’s a long time before they go back to the castle. 

**  
Arthur yawns, stretching out his shoulders. He’s feeling tired and sore, as if he’s been on a campaign. All he’s done, though, is sit all day listening to his council go on and on and on about unrest at the border. 

“Alright, sir Allyn. Sir Leon, have you finished assigning and checking the new post at Escetir?” Arthur asks, rubbing his shoulder where it’s sore, probably the place he was bitten by the questing beast.

“No, sire. I apologise,” Leon says, looking not at all apologetic; no one wants to be sent to the cold north. 

“Sir Gwaine?” Arthur asks. 

Gwaine makes a face, but bows his head in acquiescence. 

“Good. Sir Gwaine and Sir Percival will go to Ismere. Now, I have other duties to see to, so for today we are done. Thank you,” Arthur says.

He makes his escape before anyone can get his attention to try and continue any discussion. He makes sure his face and body language make it clear that he is in an absolutely foul mood and approaching him is not a good idea. He makes it to his chambers without being accosted and breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Sire?”

Arthur turns, and finds Merlin there. Of course it’s Merlin. He’s got his arms full of Arthur’s clothes, and he looks wide eyed with surprise. 

“What is it, Merlin?” Arthur asks, weary and impatient. 

Merlin’s eyes skitter left. Arthur follows his gaze and sees a pile of clothes on the floor, but nothing else. 

“Whatever it is,” Arthur says, “it can wait. My shoulder hurts.”

Arthur sits on the bed and rubs the sore muscles, listening to Merlin folding his things up. 

“Questing beast?” Merlin asks, “damn, that means it’s going to rain. You’re such an old man.”

“I am not!”

“Are so. Do you want anything for it?”

“No.”

“Right. In that case, I’ll finish this up and then go fetch your dinner. Will Gwen be eating with you tonight?”

“No, she’s eating with her mysterious knight again. She won’t tell me who he is. You could keep me company.”

“I could. But I won’t- I already agreed to eat with the knights.”

“Everyone’s more popular than I am,” Arthur grumbles. 

Before Merlin can mock him for his sour mood, there’s a brief knock and then Gwaine walks in. He’s got an apple in one hand and he’s discarded his cloak and more formal clothes. He wanders over and sits in Arthur’s chair at the table.

“Sire, I hate you,” Gwaine says, by way of greeting.

“There you go,” Merlin says, “you have your companion for dinner. And I’m done with your clothes.”

Merlin scarpers, leaving Arthur to glare at Gwaine for being rude.

“I hate cold and snow and cold,” Gwaine continues, as if Merlin never spoke, “and here you go sending me away into a blizzard. Wouldn’t you much rather I stay here and keep your bed warm?”

“I would not, my kingdom comes first,” Arthur says.

He’s lying, though. He does wish he could order Gwaine to get in his bed and never leave it. He knows that Gwiane would not approve of such a thing, though; he’d get restless and cross about not being able to fight. 

“What do you think’s for dinner tonight?” Gwaine asks, dropping his apple core on the table and staring intently at the door.

Arthur shrugs, which makes the ache in his shoulder more acute. He hisses in pain and rubs the muscles again. Gwaine makes a short tempered noise and goes to stoke the fire, then comes over and shoves Arthur’s hands away, replacing them with his own, fire-warmed, ones. Arthur moans in appreciation and leans into the strong fingers, relief spreading as the tension in his shoulder eases.

“You could have just said,” Gwaine says.

“I told Merlin,” Arthur says, “he did nothing.”

“Hmm.”

Gwaine moves one hand to start on the muscles at Arthur’s neck and across to the other shoulder, then back. He continues until Arthur’s limp, then strips him of his shirt and makes him lie on his stomach and gives him a proper massage. Merlin comes in at some point and quietly sets out dinner, building up the fire.

“Is there anything else, sire?” Merlin asks, softly, kinder than usual.

“No, no,” Arthur says, “you’re done for the day, Merlin.”

“Are you sure you don’t want willow?” Merlin asks. 

“It’s not that bad, I’m just grumbling,” Arthur admits, turning over and sitting up, dislodging Gwaine’s hands. 

Merlin smiles, bright and cheerful all of a sudden.

“Good! Well, enjoy your evening.”

Merlin bounces out, tripping into the hall and humming as he leaves. Arthur shakes his head and Gwaine laughs, drawing Arthur’s attention. He looks good- warm and pleased with himself and clean. Arthur touches his cheek, then kisses him, then kisses him again.

“Food,” Gwaine says.

“Later,” Arthur says.

**

When he and Merlin finally find Gwaine, staggering around in the tower, months later, Arthur feels such relief and gladness that his legs seem unsure about holding his weight for a moment. He has to force himself to stand firm and not pull Gwaine into inappropriate kisses and hugs. 

After Mordred saves him Arthur lies, staring at the cave wall, ignoring Percival’s fussing and questions. He doesn’t know where Merlin is, whether he’s dead or alive, and he can feel trembles all over his body. When Gwaine shows up beside him Arthur catches hold of his hand, uncaring of their audience, and holds on, looking for reassurance in his face.

“Sire?” Gwaine asks, not understanding.

“Merlin,” Arthur says.

He tries to sit up, but he’s held down by Percival and pain, and he falls back, tightening his hold on Gwaine. 

“He’s alright,” Gwaine says, but there’s a shadow on his face.

“You can’t find him?” Arthur asks. 

Gwaine doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. Arthur shivers harder, moaning in pain, and lets go of Gwaine. He loses time, then, and when he becomes aware again, he’s out of the dirty armour and held by Gwaine, and Merlin’s running towards him, crouching and then kneeling in front of him, hands feeling over his body for wounds. 

“Idiot, what were you… antagonising her like,” Merlin mutters, then he pulls out a knife. 

Arthur watches, dazed, as Merlin cuts away his clothes and dresses his wounds. When he’s sure Merlin’s okay and not dead, he lets himself slump against Gwaine, lets Gwaine lay him down and curl up with him. 

**

It takes a while for Arthur to notice it. To start with, on the journey home, he’s in too much pain to notice anything except the way Merlin and Gwaine ease that with hands and warmth and muttering and herbs. Then, when they are once more safe home, he spends a lot of time in bed and it’s Gwen, Merlin and Gaius caring for him. 

The first time it happens is the day Arthur gets up and moves around again, using Merlin’s shoulder as a prop, complaining loudly about how little movement he has and how much his leg hurts. He hobbles to the table, looks at his breakfast spread before him, and demands Gwaine’s company. 

“Um,” Merlin says, looking uncertain.

“Well? Where is he?” Arthur demands, as if Merlin should pull him out of thin air and produce him.

“He’s… well, he’s… well,” Merlin says.

“Yes?” Arthur says.

“I don’t know where he is.”

“Find him,” Arthur says.

He ignores Merlin until Merlin goes, and then he sits, waiting. He’s not hungry, he doesn’t want to eat, in fact he feels faintly ill from the pain throbbing through him. He takes a sip of water and starts cutting up an apple. It’s almost half an hour, at a guess, before Gwaine comes in.

“There you are,” Arthur says, “look; food. Breakfast. Join me.”

Gwaine does. He sits next to Arthur and helps himself, telling Arthur about training and about Leon starting a fight at the tavern. Arthur tries to listen, to eat his apple, but before long the throbbing becomes stabs, starting in his chest and leg and pulsing up and down his whole body. Gwaine doesn’t notice until Arthur gasps for breathe, pain making his chest contract.

“Arthur?” Gwaine asks, watching.

“Sorry,” Arthur says, “hurts.”

“Oh.”

Gwaine helps him back to bed and sits with him until the pain subsides. Arthur tries to pull Gwaine into bed with him, tries to talk him into taking away the pain with adrenaline, but Gwaine just huffs at him and pats his head. 

It happens a few other times, and Arthur notices it. He thinks it’s him, that it’s because of his injuries and his pain, and Gwaine just shrugs and agrees so Arthur leaves it.

**

It’s not until Mordred’s knighting ceremony that Arthur realises that Gwaine’s reticence and insistence that they not do anything is more than just a sensitivity to Arthur’s own wounds. By the time the ceremony is over, Arthur’s sore and bad tempered, but more or less alright. He looks around for Merlin and sees him chit chatting with Percival, and decides he’ll leave him to it and find Gwaine instead. Adrenaline is a good way to get over sore muscles and a bad temper.

Gwaine isn’t there. He’s not in the hall, not in the corridor outside, not in his rooms and not in Arthur’s rooms. By this time Arthur’s thigh is on fire and his chest is throbbing. He’s still not actually done any harm and the pain is nowhere near as bad as it has been, so he sets about a systematic search for his wayward knight. 

He finally locates him in the West Tower, sat on a window ledge, one leg raised, gazing out across the city. Arthur breathes a sigh of relief and sits on Gwaine’s foot, rubbing his chest for show and groaning a bit. Gwaine doesn’t even bat an eyelid. 

“Hey,” Arthur says, “a bit of sympathy? I’ve been tramping around looking for you, and now I hurt. It’s all your fault.”

“Hmm?” Gwaine says, “Oh. Okay.”

He doesn’t so much as glance Arthur’s way. Arthur reaches out to get hold of his knee, but Gwaine flinches away, starting so badly he nearly falls off the ledge and then staring, wide eyed, at Arthur. 

“Sire!” Gwaine says, “I didn’t see you!”

“We had a conversation,” Arthur points out, “though admittedly your end was far from satisfactory.”

“I stayed, to see Mordred knighted. I just slipped away after.”

“Yes, and made me search my own castle for you. Now I’m sore,” Arthur repeats. 

Still no sympathy, Gwaine just stares at him. 

“Oh,” Gwaine says, eventually.

“Gwaine,” Arthur says, not reaching out this time, but lowering his tone to denote his concern, “are you alright?”

“Yes! Yes, alright! I’m alright,” Gwaine says. 

“I’ll rephrase that. I can see that you are not alright, will you tell me about it?”

Gwaine looks sheepish, then just utterly miserable. 

“I…”

Arthur waits, but nothing more is forthcoming.

“Then,” Arthur says, “you will come to my chambers and keep me company while I change for the feast, then you will sit on my left and Mordred on my right and you will entertain me. And then you will sleep in my quarters, because you look like you haven’t had any rest.”

“Sleep?”

“Just sleep. That’s all.”

Gwaine looks uncertain, and Arthur never wants that look to appear on his face again; it doesn’t suit him at all.

“Just sleep,” Arthur repeats, “That’s it, nothing more.”

Gwaine nods.

**

It’s three weeks before Gwaine tells him. Three weeks of trying to take care of Gwaine, of trying to help him sleep, of trying to make him eat, of trying to keep him from spiralling into some kind of dark misery that seems to be haunting him. Arthur asks Percival, but Percival just frowns and shrugs, then admits to being worried too. After the third week, Arthur’s out training with the knights, sparring with Mordred, when his leg just buckles under him and dumps him in the mud. 

“Arthur!” Mordred says, dropping his sword and kneeling at his side, “sire.”

“Curses,” Arthur grits, thigh trembling, “Oh, damn, ow.”

He tries to stand, with Leon’s help, but his leg seems to have had enough. It throbs and then pain stabs up into his body and he has no choice but to sit again, sweating and cursing, then going quiet as the pain just sits there. He shuts his eyes and manages to grit out Merlin and then Gaius’s names, and then he just waits, holding on, trying to keep from bursting out crying. 

“Arthur,” someone says, and then there are hands on him, sure and gentle. 

Gwaine, Arthur thinks, sinking into the warmth, leaning into Gwaine’s strength. 

“Thank you,” Arthur says. 

Gwaine doesn’t answer that, but he stays with Arthur while Gaius has a look at him and declares he’s over done it and his muscles should be allowed to heal not put under pressure and it’s his own fault and he should listen to Gaius and now he’s going to have to rest in bed and take bad tasting potions. The last is added by Merlin, who is assigned to care for him. Gwaine stays while he’s carried to his chambers, while Merlin keeps on chiding him but rubbing balm gently into his muscles.

“Here,” Merlin says, “poppy. Arthur, drink. Come on, it’ll help you silly old goat.”

Arthur drinks, giving in to Merlin’s gentle worry. He’s got hold of Gwaine’s hand and isn’t planning on letting that go any time soon, but he grabs Merlin’s sleeve as well. He can have both of them. He holds on and waits for the pain to subside. This time he lets the tears trickle over his cheek. After all, it’s just Merlin, who cries at everything, and Gwaine who will only tease him when they’re alone. At last it eases and he can breathe easily again. 

“Thank the gods,” he says, exhaling loudly, “that hurt. I thought I was healed.”

“Did you not listen to Gaius?” Merlin asks. 

“Do you listen to Gaius?” Arthur says. 

“No. But I’m not king; it doesn’t matter if I maim myself.”

“Go, Merlin. Fetch me things,” Arthur says. 

There’s silence, Merlin goes nowhere. Arthur waits. 

“You have my sleeve, sire,” Merlin says, dry as you like. 

Arthur lets him go and tries to find something to throw, but before his poppy-muddled brain finds anything, Merlin vanishes.

“Where’d he go?” Arthur asks, “I was gonna chuck a thing at his head.”

“I thinks that’s probably why he beat a retreat,” Gwaine says, and Arthur remembers that he’s there. 

Arthur beams at him, glad that Gwaine’s close for once, not hunched on the other side of the room. Arthur knits their fingers more securely together, then frowns. 

“Does this upset you?” he asks, holding up their hands. 

“Upset me?”

“Yes. You don’t like me to touch you anymore,” Arthur says, sadly, “no more touching for Arthur.”

“Oh,” Gwaine says.

“It’s okay,” Arthur says, brightening, smiling again, “you still sleep here with me and eat dinner with me and spar with me. So it’s okay. Maybe you’ll let me kiss you again, one day. Or tell me why.”

“Why. Yes, that. I just don’t know how to say it, or what to say. I don’t even really know myself.”

“Morgana got very mean, didn’t she? She’s really horrible. She stabbed me!” Arthur says, indignantly, indicating his leg. 

“Yes, I remember.”

“Was she horrible to you?” Arthur asks.

“I… I don’t know,” Gwaine says, “I don’t know what she was.”

“She’s magic,” Arthur says, feeling awed, “she has magic. Why didn’t she tell me? I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“No! I don’t know. She used to be so nice. Shh! Don’t tell her I said that! Oh, you can’t. Mordred hurt her. Killed her, maybe. Maybe she’s dead, and I wouldn’t know.”

“I guess.”

“I wonder if her magic is beautiful?”

“No!” Gwaine says, sharply, trying to pull away. 

“No?” Arthur asks, looking at Gwiane, seeing pain, “she hurt you, too? With her magic?”

“…yes.”

“Oh. No, that’s bad. You’re right. Not beautiful.”

“No, not beautiful at all.”

“How did she hurt you?”

“She… she… I had… I had sex with her.”

Arthur watches Gwaine for a while, trying to work that out, and then he does work it out and the world goes hot and dizzy for a few minutes while he tries to work it into his world view, his view of Gwaine, his view of Morgana. 

“She raped you,” Arthur says, quietly, softly, “she raped you. I swear, if Mordred didn’t finish her, I will. I never wanted to hurt her, she was my sister, but this is unforgivable.”

“She didn’t,” Gwaine protests, but it’s a weak protest.

“Did you want to have sex with her?”

“No.”

“Then she had no right. Camelot has always held that view. Servant, master, visiting noble, workman; no one has the right to take that. Not me, not her, not the knights; no one.”

“I know.”

“Is it alright, holding hands?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You tell me, when it’s not.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it. I won’t stop reaching out, won’t stop touching, so tell me when it’s not alright.”

“Okay.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

“Good. Now, lie beside me. I want to sleep. I am an invalid.”

Gwaine stretches out gingerly, careful not to jog Arthur. They lie in silence for a while, Gwaine stiff, until Arthur starts to hum. He doesn’t mean to, not at first, but when Gwaine starts to relax he turns the mindless drawl into something he half remembers from being very, very young. Gwaine’s head sinks, heavy, against his shoulder. Arthur holds his hand and hums, turning so they’re face to face, so he can feel Gwaine’s breath. Gwaine’s asleep when Merlin comes back. 

“Si-“ Merlin starts.

“Shh,” Arthur says, “he’s resting.”

“Oh good. Is he okay?” Merlin asks, peering at Gwaine’s sleeping face, “we’re all worried.”

“He will be okay,” Arthur says, stubborn, sure; a promise.

“I got more poppy. How’s the pain?”

“Alright. I feel woozy.”

“Good. Okay. I also got some books and things, for entertainment. I arranged for something easy on the stomach to be brought up later. The poppy never sit well with you. I’ve also talked to Sir Leon about tomorrow and he’s going to cover your duties. He’ll come see you to make arrangements for the next week or so. Gaius wants you off your feet at least that long, he’s sent a remedy to aid the muscle recovery.”

“You are, very occasionally, not dreadful at your job, Merlin.”

“Oh, wow, that’s high praise.”

“Shut up.”

“Do you need me for anything else?”

“Yes. Sit with me, until I fall asleep? And build the fire a little. I do not feel altogether well, Merlin.”

“Is your leg paining you?”

“No, it is my heart.”

Merlin narrows his eyes, then flicks a brief look at Gwaine, then nods and goes to build the fire. He doesn’t ask questions, just sits and talks quietly with Arthur until he can fall asleep. When Arthur wakes, Merlin is gone, but Gwaine’s still there, heavy against his side. He will make Gwaine better, he will. 

**


	2. Chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS!!!! dealing with the aftermath of rape. some past violence described. possibly grief.

Arthur wakes up to Gwaine panicking. This happens a lot and Arthur’s got pretty good at dodging the flailing arms and legs and keeping Gwaine from falling off the bed without making him scream (and hadn’t that been fun- the guards rushing in and Arthur having to say that he’d just stubbed his toe when they were trying to get something out from under the bed). He rubs Gwaine’s back and shoulder until he comes awake, then gives him space. 

“Thanks,” Gwaine says, breathing hard, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Easy, Gwaine. Breathing is a good idea,” Arthur says, sitting against the headboard, waiting. 

Gwaine’s breathing doesn’t ease. He leans forwards, rocking, holding his head. Arthur has seen men do worse after waking from dreams, after campaigns and battles and bad days, but seeing it in Gwaine is somehow painful. He wants to just tug Gwaine against him and hold onto him. Instead, he starts to talk.

“I managed to trick Merlin into getting us berries for breakfast,” Arthur says, lightly, “he went out foraging for them. He’s been strangely tranquil since I’ve been stuck here, I think he’s grateful to you for keeping me entertained. Leon tells me that…”

Arthur rambles on, eyes on Gwaine’s tense muscles. They don’t relax much, but the harsh breathing doesn’t get worse. Arthur talks for about five minutes, the sighs heavily. 

“Gwaine, it’s alright. Whatever you’re beating yourself up over this time, please don’t. I know that it’s hard, sometimes, not to take responsibility. It’s hard to let go of that. Especially for us, who’ve learnt to be independent and who cling so hard to duty and honour. It will get better. It will. Merlin helps me see that, sometimes, it is not I who must help. Rather it is for me to _ask_ for help, so that I can carry on. I have no idea what I’m babbling about.”

Gwaine’s breathing has slowed a little. 

“Take a deep breath,” Arthur says, waiting for Gwaine to do so, “and out. And in, and out.”

Arthur counts out the breathes for Gwaine until he relaxes and sits against the headboard beside Arthur, shivering but relaxed and breathing easily once more.

“I’m sorry, sire,” Gwaine says. 

“Let’s make a new rule; no titles in bed, hmm?” Arthur says, removing an imaginary crown, nonsensically placing it carefully on the table. 

Gwaine goggles at him, then bursts out laughing. 

“What are you doing, _Arthur_?” Gwaine asks.

“Removing my crown. Obviously.”

Gwaine laughs harder, then curls against Arthur’s side and chest, letting out little huffs of laughter. Arthur smiles, rather proud of himself for inducing amusement to dispel the terror of the dream. He tucks Gwaine into his side and pulls the covers over them again. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Gwiane says, once he’s subsided, from somewhere around Arthur’s arm pit.

Arthur opens his mouth to reply, but before he can Merlin backs into the room with a tray of breakfast. 

“You’re still in bed?” Merlin asks, incredulous.

“I’m not allowed out yet,” Arthur says.

“Yes, that doesn’t usually stop you. Gwaine, you are magic. I mean-“ Merlin stops, wide eyed. 

“I’m not going to suddenly suspect Gwaine of sorcery because of your babbling Merlin, don’t panic,” Arthur says, irritably. 

“So-rry, sire,” Merlin says, “I was going to give you good news, but now I don’t think-“

Arthur throws a cushion at him, carefully missing so their breakfast doesn’t go sailing into the air. Merlin puts the tray hastily on the table and glares. 

“News, Merlin,” Arthur demands. 

“Oh, if it’s an order, sire.”

“It is.”

“Gaius is coming by to check your leg, but he says if all is well you can probably move around a little, and by Monday you’ll be back on duty. No training, though,” Merlin says. 

Arthur smiles and stretches, but stays settled where he is, Gwaine warm against him. Merlin huffs and sets the breakfast things out, then comes over to the bed to peer at Gwaine’s hair, which is pretty much all that’s showing.

“What?” Arthur asks. 

“I brought sweet cakes,” Merlin whispers, grinning when Gwaine’s head shoots up. 

Gwaine gets out of bed and pads over to the table. He’s almost fully clothed, which Arthur finds sad; Gwaine used to wander about with no clothes on, regardless of whether Merlin was in the room or not. Now he pauses to tug on a jacket and put his feet into his boots before investigating the promise of cakes. Merlin sits on the edge of the bed and they watch Gwaine pick out a cake and an apple before wandering to the window. 

“How is he?” Merlin mutters, sound not carrying beyond Arthur’s hearing.

“No idea,” Arthur admits. 

Gwaine’s been happy to touch, these past days, been happy to stay close to Arthur, but as Arthur’s been healing and moving more and more without pain, even sneaking up to go to the table when Merlin and Gaius are absent, he’s drawn in on himself a little more. Arthur rubs his face, then watches Gwaine. 

“He seems so sad,” Merlin says.

“We’ll fix it,” Arthur says, “though at the moment, I do not know how.”

Merlin nods. Gwaine turns towards them, coming back to sit with them, so much quieter these days. No boasts about the tavern or his prowess with a sword, no ridiculous stories of adventure and escape, no teasing taunts, no laughing, affectionate insults. Just a quiet little mutter about the cake being nice, and then he settles in, silent

**

Once Arthur’s up and about, it’s harder to keep Gwaine close and safe. To begin with he mostly moves around his chambers, and Gwaine stays to help, but when on Monday Arthur goes down to attend his council, Gwaine slips away and doesn’t return till Tuesday afternoon. No one knows where he’s been, he just says he’s been wandering.   
Arthur finds him, on Thursday, in the meadow. He’s lying, looking up at the sky, hands behind his head. He looks almost peaceful and Arthur hesitates to encroach, but he does. He goes and lies at Gwaine’s side and keeps quiet until Gwaine moves closer. 

“Alright?” Arthur asks.

“Restless,” Gwaine says.

“I can send you out, if you want. I need someone to visit some of the outlying villages anyway.”

“And you?”

“Would stay here and rest this blasted leg. I swear, as soon as I think I’m on the mend it decides to send spikes of agony up into my hip and stomach.”

“Sorry.”

“For?”

“You came to rescue me.”

“Huh. Well, I guess so. Went to get my men back.”

“And… me. Us.”

“Didn’t really come into it, to be honest. I mean, when I saw you well it was great and a relief, but I came for all of you, and to get rid of a threat to Camelot. My kingdom is always first, it has to be.”

Arthur looks up at the sky, away from Gwaine. It’s the truth. He always has to put the kingdom first, above and beyond his own needs and the needs of those he loves. He has to consider it. But he would have got Gwaine back, even if it had been the worst thing for the kingdom. Somehow, he would have got him back.

“Would you have come for me?” Gwaine asks, as if reading Arthur’s mind.

“Of course. I can’t help myself.”

They lie for a while longer, but Gwaine eventually gets up and leaves Arthur, going to walk alone in the woods, leaving Arthur to limp back to the castle and bear Gaius’s berating.

**

“Mordred!” Arthur calls, holding up a hand when Mordred turns.

“Sire.”

“I am sending Sir Elyan out to do the rounds of remote villages, and he needs accompanying. I was going to send Sir Percival, but I need him here for another duty. Would you please take his place? I will send Sir Lovall with you, as well, so you’ll have plenty of experience.”

Mordred’s eyes light up and he beams at Arthur. 

“It is a bit of a sedate journey, there should be no need for fighting. It is simply to check up on harvests and see if the people need anything for the winter months. If you come across trouble you’ll have to ride to the closest post, you probably won’t be involved,” Arthur says, but Mordred doesn’t care. 

“Thank you, sire!”

“Yes, well.”

Merlin comes running up, breathless, so Arthur sends Mordred on his way and turns to him.

“Gwaine…” Merlin pants.

Arthur doesn’t wait for more, just takes off at a run after Merlin. He’s not sure what to expect but scenarios scroll through his mind as they run, Gwaine covered in blood, Gwaine out cold, Gwaine doing something unbelievably stupid. When he bursts into his chambers, though, he just finds Gwaine sat at the table with Gwen, eating an apple. Arthur turns on Merlin.

“I… sire,” Merlin pants, gasping for breath, holding his side, waving a hand at Gwaine. 

“Hello, Arthur,” Gen says, standing up and kissing his cheek, “Gwiane is going to be staying with us for lunch. Did you find Mordred?”

“Yes,” Arthur says, tightly, glaring at Merlin. 

“I think I shall go with Merlin, my lord,” Gwen says, “to check up on lunch.”

Gwen takes Merlin’s elbow and pulls him out. Arthur glares harder, and Merlin gestures and waves and then is gone. Arthur turns to Gwaine, who looks far too amused. 

“What is going on?” Arthur asks. 

“Merlin may have found me in here, breaking things. By the time Gwen arrived I had moved on to yelling at the walls. I can see why you married her, Arthur; she’s very… commanding.”

“Yes,” Arthur says, sheepishly, thinking back on the last time Gwen wanted her way, “commanding. Very.”

“She was commanding, then soothing.”

“Good. Was it… were you…”

“I was angry,” Gwaine says, sighing, putting the apple down.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Arthur says quickly, wanting Gwaine to eat and be happy again. 

“I was angry at myself, for feeling like this. I don’t know why it feels like this, it probably shouldn’t. It was just an orgasm.”

Arthur considers that. He’s been considering little else, recently, unable to keep from picturing Morgana dismantling Gwaine piece by piece. Arthur goes and sits at the table, taking Gwen’s place, and he takes his own apple. He runs a thumb over the red skin, rubbing away dust, and keeps his eyes on the apple. He’s found Gwaine finds it easier if no one is looking at him.

“Feeling like what?” Arthur asks. 

“As if… I don’t know. Angry, incredibly angry, and unhappy. When people get too close, I jump. When they touch me, even just to brush past, it’s like something’s crawling under my skin. I feel like there is no control, anywhere, and I want to control everything.”

“Mm.”

“I want to decide things and be me again. It’s like I’m not me.”

“Hmm.”

“She took something out of me and I don’t know how to get it back.”

“She didn’t take anything, you’re still you. It’s all still there. She just shook you up and took away your control. She can’t take you, I won’t let her. She can’t have any of you. Merlin, Gwen, Percival, Mordred, all my knights. She can’t have any of you.”

“I hate it.”

“I hate what she did to you.”

“I feel like I’m disgusting, now, like I’m used up. Nothing left.”

“When I first saw you fight, I was unimpressed by your sword work and not particularly interested in your style. You’re messy and chaotic, I thought. But then I looked closer, and everything was accurate, behind the mess. And then I watched and you were so beautiful, then, throwing yourself into another man’s fight, just for the fun of it. Passion and excitement and wonder at the world.”

“And now there’s none of it.”

“Last week, lying with you in the meadow, you looked so peaceful. Looking up at the sky, enjoying the fresh air. You still have it, Gwaine. You still have a certain wonder, when you look at things. What colour is my apple?”

“Red.”

“Mm.”

Gwaine reaches out and takes it, and a smile quirks the edge of his lip, just a tiny one.

“Yeah, it’s red. Shiny,” Gwaine says, rubbing a finger over the skin the way Arthur did, “like the ones I used to eat when wandering.”

“The smell?”

“It’s new, like it’s brand new, but it smells like home, too. Like my father’s orchards.”

“it’s just a piece of fruit, just an apple. To me it’s just an apple, but to it’s something wonderful. She didn’t take that from you.”

Gwaine bites his lip, but he goes back to eating his apple and he pockets the one he took from Arthur. And a week later Arthur finds it in Gwaine’s chambers, sat on the window sill along with a metal broach Arthur gave Gwaine ages ago and what looks like one of Merlin’s neckerchiefs.   
**

“Are Mordred and Elyan back yet?” Percival asks. 

Arthur straightens from where he’s leaning on the battlements, looking out, and turns to Percival. Percival’s on duty, so he’s much more alert and much better dressed than Arthur, who’s simply trying to escape his queen who is on a rampage about a maid Arthur threw a mug of water at. 

“No,” Arthur says, shaking away his thoughts.

“Will Gwaine be on duty, to cover them? With three off under Gaius’s care and now Sir Lionell gone to visit his sister and the new baby, we’re short.”

“Leon hasn’t brought any concerns to me, it’s his duty to go over the rotas.”

“Sir Leon is distracted by Lady Margaret, sire.”

Arthur grins, because it’s true. Sir Tyrrel’s daughter is at court for the month with her father, and she’s gathered quite a number of suitors, not least Sir Leon. 

“Midge will eat him for breakfast,” Arthur says, grin widening, “she used to-“

Arthur cuts himself off and turns away. He was going to talk about how Morgana used to teach Margaret how to fight, as a small child. How he used to make sure to test her sword work every time he visited sir Tyrrel’s lands, how she always begged to know of Morgana. 

“Sire?”

“Apologies, Percival. My mind wandered. I will speak to Sir Leon, make sure he isn’t neglecting his duty. I’ll also talk to Gwaine. I’d rather he rest up for another week or so, even though he was magically healed he still has some recuperating to do.”

“He seems fine in training, sire.”

“Yes,” Arthur agrees, frowning, “what do you think, Percival? Is he ready? Has he spoken to you at all?”

“He told me what happened, sire. With Morgana. He was a little drunk, and I may have asked. I regret that, but I am glad to know. I think he’s dealing with it. I… my sister…”

Arthur nods. He knows that Percival’s family were taken and held before being killed, and he has heard many horrific stories. 

“She was so young,” Percival says, absently, then shakes his head, “I think that Gwaine can manage, sire.”

“I’ll talk to Sir Leon, in that case, and Gwaine of course. Thank you, Percival. You’re very attentive. I may have a new duty for you soon, come have dinner with me tomorrow night. I have something in mind.”

Arthur leaves Percival and goes to find Leon and then Gwaine. 

**

“Sire,” Merlin says, kneeling to stoke the fire, back to Arthur. 

Arthur hums in acknowledgement and carries on reading.

“Sir Percival says that you have been talking to him about certain… duties.”

“Yes,” Arthur says, looking up, “I wish to extend a welcome to the Druid people. I’d like to know how that will effect my council and how people will react, and Percival is very observant.”

“Sire… um… is magic…”

“It is still banned, Merlin. Do not let this trouble you on that front.”

Arthur watches Merlin twitch. He’s always wondered… but, no. 

“Yes, sire.”

“Why so deferential all of a sudden? Never mind, no matter. I suspect that one day the ban will be lifted. I have my suspicions on the true nature of it. But, for the moment, it is tangled up with prejudice, religion and history. I will leave well enough alone for the moment. You do remember, though, that Mordred is a druid and so in all probability, he has some magic and he definitely has a great knowledge of it.”

“Yes, Arthur.”

“Then you understand that my views are not the same as my father’s?”

“Yes.”

“Good. That fire is quite high enough, get off the floor and come help me with this blasted speech, seeing as you always remind me how you write and do everything for me.”

Merlin comes and sits opposite him, drawing the paper across. Arthur watches him as he reads, notes the tension in his shoulders, the slight tremble in his hands. He does wonder, sometimes. Before he can give form to the half created thought, Gwaine comes striding in, sword unsheathed, eyes bright with anger. Arthur jumps to his feet, automatically reaching for his own sword handle, moving to stand between Merlin and Gwaine. 

“Arthur,” Gwaine says, “why is it that I have just been gossiping in the kitchen, and have heard from a _boot boy_ that I am to be sent away?”

“Sent away where?” Arthur asks, keeping his voice calm.

“To the post at Escetir,” Gwaine snaps.

“Merlin would like to visit his mother. I see no reason why he shouldn’t, and I see no reason why I should not have the post checked over at the same time.”

“I am to go to Ealdor?” Gwaine asks, blade lowering. 

“You’re letting me have time off to see my mother?” Merlin asks, far more incredulously, leaning on the back of his chair to stare at Arthur. 

“Neither of you are having either of those things. I, your king, am riding out to make a tour of several posts, one of which-“

“Yeah yeah, but we’re going to Ealdor, too?” Merlin asks, cutting him off. 

Arthur hides his grin.

“You should not interrupt your king, Merlin., What happened to your deference?”

“You trod it under your boot when you demanded I write your speech. What is this even for, Arthur? It’s awful.”

“I’m riding with you?” Gwaine asks, an edge to his voice.

“A king cannot ride without a guard, Gwaine. We shall be gone no more than two weeks. We will have to wait for Sir Elyan and Mordred to return, I was going to inform you at such a time. It seems my boot boy has been listening at doors. Just out of interest, who is my boot boy? And what is his job?”

“He means that stable hand, Arthur,” Merlin says, “his name’s John. He polishes your boots.”

“I thought you did that?” Arthur asks. 

“No, Arthur. I have a list of duties as long as this room, I delegate a fair few of them.”

“Finally discovered the power your job gives you? I did wonder how long it would take for you to realise you were not expected to do absolutely everything.”

“You could have told me.”

“That would have ruined the fun. Now, toddle off and write a nice speech, I wish to eat lunch in peace. Are you staying, Gwaine?”

Gwaine puts his sword away and Arthur breathes a silent sigh of relief and exchanges a quick look with Merlin, who shrugs. Arthur shakes his head in agreement, and Merlin leaves with the scroll of paper, muttering something about prats. Gwaine sits.

“Sorry, sire.”

“No matter.”

“My temper is…”

“Mm. I had noticed. The sword was a nice touch, by the way.”

“Would you have let me skewer you?”

“Perhaps. I do like having days off.”

“I was so angry with you, for treating me like glass, for thinking I needed baby sitting. And then I was angry that you were sending me away and not coming with me. And then I was angry that you didn’t want me any more.”

“Skewering me would have resolved all those issues, I’m sure.”

“Shut up.”

Arthur laughs, unable to help himself, because Gwaine sounds almost exactly like Merlin.

“You should spend less time with my manservant and more time with me, Gwaine,” Arthur says, sitting down again. 

“Merlin has nicer manner,” Gwaine says. 

Crisis averted, Arthur thinks with relief. 

**  
Arthur’s having a truly terrible day. To begin with, he was woken by Gwen sneaking in, trying to steal his breakfast because apparently her own was not enough and she was embarrassed to ask Sefa for more. Then Merlin was late coming to help him dress and then the council was interminably boring and then Gaius had checked his leg and said he needed to wait even longer before doing any more than gentle exercise and then, and this was the crowning glory of the terrible day, Percival had been chasing a thief and had fallen and sprained his ankle.

Arthur storms through the castle, relishing the little sounds of shock his storming elicits from the maids and the looks of awe from the boys. He storms into Gwen’s chambers and stomps about there for a bit, ignoring the fact that she is in fact only half dressed and it could in some circumstances be considered rude to rant while one’s wife has her breasts on show, though that particular state of affairs is very brief and soon put right by Sefa.

“Arthur, enough. Go shout at someone else, I have duties to attend to. And next time, perhaps at least pretend, for Sefa’s sake, that my nakedness is something worth remarking upon,” Gwen says, eventually, bundling him out. 

He stalks down to Gaius’s and turns Merlin out of his room and stomps about there for a bit, storming at Merlin instead. It’s even less enjoyable that storming at Gwen because Merlin completely ignores him, simply fetching the book he’d been reading for Gaius and continueing in Arthur’s presence. So Arthur goes to find Gwaine. 

He pushes into Gwaine’s chambers, mouth open already around a rant, but then he stops. He closes the door gently and takes a deep breath to calm himself. Gwaine’s sat on the bed, staring at Arthur, and there are tears dripping off his chin. He ducks his head, cheeks burning, and presses his palms to his eyes. 

“No,” Arthur says, “I tell my knights that no man is worth their tears, but that does not mean that to cry is a sign of weakness.”

Arthur has, in actual fact, usually considered crying a thing for women to do. However, Merlin cries and Merlin is not a woman, no matter how many times Arthur calls him one, and is in fact incredibly brave and possibly actually almost a strong person. So Arthur had gone to Merlin and cried, when his father died, just for a brief time. 

“it’s stupid,” Gwaine says, breath catching. 

Arthur shrugs and sits beside him, absently running his fingers over Gwaine’s britches, the fabric rougher than his own. 

“Most things seem stupid from one point of view.”

Gwaine snorts, which is disgusting because crying clearly makes one snotty. Arthur pulls out his handkerchief and holds it out to Gwaine, who doesn’t take it. Arthur presses it to Gwaine’s face himself, which makes Gwaine laugh and bat his hands away and take the handkerchief. He leans against Arthur’s side after blowing his nose, and Arthur sits back against the wall so he can hold on better. 

He’s held Gwen like this before. When her father died, when they were so scared for- for someone, when she had woken from a dream. He’s held Merlin like this, once, in secret, unsure what had made Merlin’s heart break but sure that there was something. He’d been held like this, by Gwen. He smoothes Gwaine’s hair.

“You’ve had this cut again,” he says, softly. 

Gwaine’s still crying. Arthur can tell, though he’s making no noise, because his neck is getting a bit damp. 

“After my first campaign, when I’d had so much trouble controlling the men and seen so many terrible, terrible things I could not stop,” Arthur says, “my father told me it was a man’s job to do such things. I was still so young. He made me stand for hours, listening to the lists of men who had lost their lives, listening to the destruction I had caused. I hid in the stable, afterwards, and cried into my horse’s main. I cried until my stomach heaved, and Sir Leon found me there, retching.”

Arthur shuts his eyes. He had been so afraid, he’d thought Leon would tell.

“He just hugged me,” Arthur says, “told me that it happened sometimes. He was young himself, barely older than I, but he’d been a squire a long while. He’s a good man. He told me that everyone breaks sometimes, like this.”

Arthur never knows what to say to Gwaine. He hums, remembering the night Gwaine told him, and then starts singing quietly. Gwaine relaxes in increments, listening. 

**


	3. chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS!!! past rape/noncon, aftermath, nightmares, grief.

Arthur feels like he spends a huge proportion of his life hiding from Gwen. Currently he’s hiding in Merlin’s room, sitting on the bed, back propped up against the wall, watching Merlin research some herb or another. Something important for the well being of someone. 

“Arthur, I feel you staring,” Merlin says. 

“Sorry.”

“Why are you hiding from your wife this time? What did you do to incur her probably justified wrath?”

“Well, I think it’s more to do with her wanting me to attend to a particular duty that I have no wish to attend to.”

“Is this about visiting your sir what’s his name again? I thought you got over that particular argument.”

“Oh, we did, but then I may have accidentally walked in on her and her not so mysterious anymore knight and she got a little piqued and this particular sir what’s his name is insistent, and she was cross with me so she made a promise she should not have made and I have no intention of fulfilling.”

Merlin pauses, eyes flicking back and forth as he unravels that. 

“Ah,” is all he says, “when are Elyan and Mordred due back?”

“Sometimes this week. After which we will go to Ealdor and- right. Sir what’s his name is in that general direction. I get your meaning. You think I should give in to Gwenevere.”

“I think you should probably stop winding her up and admit to her that you are perfectly willing, even enthusiastic, I’d say obsessive, about doing your duty.”

Arthur throws a thin pillow at Merlin’s head, then frowns and feels the thickness of the blanket he’s sat on and looks around. 

“Merlin, is this all your bedding?”

“Um… yes?”

“Idiot. Why didn’t you say anything? You can have a pillow and warmer blanket, if you wish. Honestly, you really are useless.”

“Hmm. I’m used to it. I grew up sleeping on the floor, remember?”

“I do remember. I am contemplating making Gwaine carry my mattress this trip.”

“Be polite about my mother, Arthur.”

“Speaking of Gwaine… seeing as I am, according to you, hopelessly insensitive, I might as well just say it. I am so…”

“Horny?” Merlin suggests, flicking a page. 

Arthur looks ruefully at his crotch and pokes at it. There are no stirrings right at this minute, but…

“I have been having certain issues,” Arthur admits, “with this particular appendage. It seems unwilling to behave.”

Merlin snorts with laughter and closes the book, finally giving Arthur his attention. 

“Appendage? Really, Arthur?”

“Well, I am trying to be polite. I am a king, after all.”

“I am very, very, very unwilling to help you out with your… appendage.”

“As is Gwaine, currently. Poor Bastard.”

“Don’t be pitying, sire.”

Arthur sighs. 

“Merlin, I have no idea what to be these days. One second he’s fine, the next he’s not, and most of the time there’s something miserable in him.”

“I assume that he mentioned to you that he had talked to me, and you’re not just being awful and betraying his confidence.”

“He talks to you, and he talks a bit to Percival. I wish I could help him properly.”

“Is your appendage really a problem?”

“No,” Arthur says, “inopportune risings aside, I’ve gone longer. Campaigns, duty and lack of opportunity have been issues previously. I just miss it, sometimes, how free he was. With touch.”

“You hate people being affectionate!”

“Hey, I’ve hugged you once or twice.”

“I can count the times you have on the fingers of one hand.”

“recently, though.”

Merlin looks at him for a long moment, eyes assessing and vieled, before replying. 

“Yes. It would seem so.”

“It’s hard to trust people that deeply, with myself. With the me that isn’t a king, the one who hides in here and teases Gwen and hugs you.”

“I know,” Merlin says.

It’s simple, and yet somehow coming from Merlin Arthur believes it. He smiles idly, humming under his breath. 

“What is that?” Merlin asks, “I’ve heard you humming it to Gwaine, but I don’t recognise it.”

“Someone used to sing it to me, when I was small. I don’t remember who. I think the words are very old, they are not in a language I know. The tune is just one of the common tunes, with a few variations.”

“Can you sing the words?”

Arthur does, and Merlin frowns, listening closely, and then he translates it. Slowly, but with certainty.

“And when the day is done my love,   
And we must say goodbye,   
Just shut your eyes and sing this tune  
And I’ll be by your side  
Until the song is done, my love,   
Until the song is done. 

Long years may pass and tears may fall,  
We may part for good or ill,   
But come what may and come what will,   
Sing this song, remember all.”

“What’s the language?” Arthur asks, softly. 

“Something I read of, somewhere.”

“Something to do with magic.”

Merlin doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. They sit in silence for a while, Merlin taking up the thread of the tune and humming now. They’re both lost in their thoughts when Gaius knocks and asks Merlin how he’s getting on and tells them that the queen is awaiting Arthur in the outer chamber. He looks far too amused for Arthur’s liking. There’s no escape, though, so Arthur goes. 

**

“Arthur, may I try something?”

Arthur’s lying face down on Gwaine’s bed, exhausted. He’s had too much to do recently, with so many knights laid low by influenza and Elyan’s party still not returned, with Gwenever away visiting Sir Lorain and Leon out after bandits. His council’s been in uproar about the rumours over the druids, too. 

“Izzit?” Arthur manages, into a pillow he’s pretty sure he’s been drooling on.

“just… trying something.”

“Kay. Y’r’on duty later.”

“I know.”

“Hnng.”

Arthur’s surprised when he feels Gwaine’s hands, sure on his back, rubbing and kneading his sore muscles, pushing the tension out of him. He stiffens, then relaxes. He’s even more surprised when Gwaine’s hands stray to his arse and thighs. He turns over to get a look at Gwaine’s face. He looks contemplative, but not upset. He rubs Arthur’s stomach, then lower. 

“Okay?” Gwaine asks, waiting. 

“Yeah, if you are.”

Gwaine nods. Arthur gets up on his elbow and touches a thumb to Gwaine’s lips. 

“Let me know,” Arthur says, “when I can return the favour.”

Gwaine nods again, then focuses on Arthur’s body. It doesn’t last for long, Arthur’s been too busy and too pent up for it to last anywhere near as long as he’d like. He doesn’t embarrass himself, though. The feeling of having Gwaine’s hands on him again is incredibly good, and when he climaxes he presses his face into Gwaine’s neck with a quiet ‘oh god!’, and stays there, trembling a little. 

“Okay?” Gwaine asks again, sounding smug and pleased with himself.

“That was brilliant,” Arthur says. 

“Mm. It was. I liked doing it, I didn’t freak out. I still don’t want… I don’t want you to return the favour, as you put it. Not yet.”

“Is this okay?” Arthur asks, meaning his limp slump against Gwaine. 

“For the moment.”

Arthur stays where he is until the stickiness around his groin becomes uncomfortable, breath and lips brushing Gwaine’s skin, hands tangled in Gwaine’s clothing, arm pressed against, somehow, bare stomach. Gwaine doesn’t seem to mind. 

“I need a bath,” Arthur decides, pulling away and running a cloth over himself.

“Yeah, you smell.”

“Hey! I do not. Would you bathe with me?”

“Are you not able to bathe yourself, princess?”

“I’m tired,” Arthur says, whining and batting his eyelashes. 

Gwaine laughs and agrees to have dinner with Arthur, but he doesn’t agree to bathe with him. He does sit in Arthur’s chambers and read aloud from a dreadfully composed report from one of the knights, laughing away while Arthur washes. 

“Merlin always manages to get the water so warm,” Arthur says, leaning back to enjoy the bath for a moment.

“Hmm? He’s good.”

“I shall admit nothing,” Arthur says, grinning, and heaves himself out. 

He stands in front of the fire, towel around his hips, warm and relaxed and easy. 

“So, tell me about Gwen’s mysterious knight. Who is it?” Gwaine says, as he has a thousand times since Arthur discovered the identity.

“Not my place to say,” Arthur answers, again.

“Well then, come sit with me and tell me stories about him and I’ll see if I can identify him.”

Arthur goes and curls up with Gwaine, enjoying the closeness.

**

“For heaven’s sake, Gwaine, get your left arm up or he’ll skewer you!” Arthur yells, frustrated. 

Gwaine glares at him, but he does get his arm up. Before Arthur can shout some more (he’s in a foul mood thanks to sitting through petitioners this morning and trying to untangle idiotic disputes) a messenger comes up, running.

“what is it?” Arthur snaps.

“Her maj’sty, the high queen, her highness, has asked me to relay a message to you,” the boy says. 

Arthur looks closer and realises how young the fool is, and he recognises him as Sir Knowel’s youngest.

“Cadwen, thank you. You may pass on the message.”

“Her highness says that her brother, Sir Elyan, has returned.”

“Oh? Brilliant. That’s excellent news! Good lad. Run along and say hello to your father, but mind yourself.”

Cadwen runs, easy among the blades and not in danger through long practise. Arthur waits until Knowle has gathered the kid up, then gets Percival’s attention with a raised hand. 

“sire?” Percival says, jogging up.

“Take over, please. Keep an eye on Gwaine’s left, and Sir Rogers is still not- right, you know all this. Let Knowle have a minute, then send Cadwen on his way.”

“Yes sire. Okay, sir Lanclyn run that again! Let’s have Sir Melrose and Sir Howel partnered, and Gwaine please wait for Knowle,” Percival says, eyes scanning the knights. 

Arthur leaves him to it, striding up to the castle. He finds Gwenevere in the throne room, sat at the round table, Elyan on her left. She’s laughing at some story sir Mordred is telling when Arthur enters. 

“Sire,” Mordred says, jumping to his feet and bowing. 

“Sit down, Mordred. Where’s Sir Lovell and the rest?” Arthur asks Elyan, waving Mordred away.

“I sent them to get some food and rest. Gwen tells me you’re short of men at the moment, I thought it would be best.”

“Good, good. Mordred, you may go too.”

Mordred leaves and Arthur sits with Elyan for half an hour, listening and making notes, before calling for food and drink and sitting back a little, asking for gossip about the men and women he knows a little. When they’re done eating and talking, Arthur moves on to other matters. 

“Gwenevere, now that you are returned and Sir Elyan is returned, I will begin preparations to ride to Ealdor. I mean to see Sir what’s hi- I mean Sir Cador and to check the border posts.”

“Of course, Arthur,” Gwen says, stifling her amusement badly. 

“I shall not ride until Sir Leon returns, and I shall not stay away further than a month. I want to leave a full guard with you, so I will be calling in Sir Lionell and Sir Gerraint to bring extra hands.”

“Very good, my lord.”

“I will leave Leon with you, he should keep you safe. I’ll take Sir Gwaine and sir Percival with me, and perhaps a few others.”

“I suggest taking Sir Howell, sire,” Gwen says, smiling, “it’s time he had a duty beyond the walls of the castle.”

“Is he your mystery knight?” Elyan asks, eyes sparking. 

“No he is not. Honestly, Arthur, have you spread that everywhere?”

“Sorry,” Arthur says, sheepish and contrite.

Gwen shakes her head but she seems amused, so it’s alright. Gwaine slips into the room, Merlin at his back, both eager with anticipation. Arthur ignores them, picking an apple from the mess left on the table. 

“Arthur!” Merlin says.

“When Sir Leon returns we will be making a visit to Sir What’s h- Sir Cador and the border posts. You will both ride with me,” Arthur says, trying not to grin but failing. 

Merlin beams back at him, eyes soft with excitement, and Gwaine looks happy too. 

“I’ll go write to my mother,” Merlin says, “thank you, sire.”

“Did I say we’d be visiting your mother?”

Merlin ignores him and hurries away, leaving Gwaine to come sit at Arthur’s side and question Elyan on a few points. He brings up three particular taverns and four bar maids, which is thrilling, an edge of the rogue creeping back into him. Arthur sits back to watch.   
**

Arthur wakes with a start, rolls out of bed and draws his sword, eyed widening to try and see in the dark. He’s too hot from the fire, there’s a dragon, and Merlin was… was somewhere. Arthur gets himself against the wall and peers around. There’s movement by the bed. Probably not a dragon, but maybe Morgana, or one of her men. Arthur stills, waiting, ready.

“Arthur?”

That’s Gwaine. He’s here, too, then. Arthur hesitates, then moves. He ducks, scuttles across, gets hold of Gwaine and tugs him against the wall, too. 

“Shh,” Arthur says, turning his head, trying to see. 

“Are you awake? Ugh, it’s cold. And early! Why do you have a sword? And why are we being shoved against a wall?”

Arthur pauses, hesitates again. Something about Merlin… the bed… he frowns, and lowers the sword. 

“What?” he asks, looking around at his bed chamber. 

“Oh, hello. You’re awake, now? I think you had a dream. I woke up when you thumped out of bed and flung yourself about.”

Arthur turns to Gwaine. 

“What?” he says, again. 

“Never mind. I want to sleep, come on.”

Arthur lets Gwaine take the sword, lets himself be pulled upright and lead back to bed, lets Gwaine curl around him and run soothing hands over his tense muscles until he relaxes. When he sleeps, though, he dreams of Merlin with glowing eyes, and Morgana as she used to be, proud and beautiful and kind, but also older and wiser. As if she had grown up differently. As if she’d grown up knowing, with Arthur knowing. He wakes with his cheeks wet from tears. 

“Bad night, hmm?” Gwaine says, coming over and sitting on the edge of the bed, “your turn for nightmares, clearly.”

“Wasn’t a nightmare,” Arthur says, “just… a dream.”

He doesn’t tell Gwaine about Morgana. He just sits up and hugs him, breathing in the sweat and sleep-musk of him, reminding himself of the real world. Gwaine allows it, even kisses Arthur’s ear and hair, and then tilts his chin and looks into his eyes. 

“Alright?” Gwaine asks. 

“I am. I think Merlin built the fire too high last night, or perhaps it was something I ate or drank. I had very vivid dreams.”

To Arthur’s surprise, Gwaine ducks in closer and kisses him, lips warm and insistent. Arthur shuts his eyes and leans into it, savouring it. 

“Good morning,” Gwaine says, when he pulls back. 

“Morning,” Arthur says, opening his eyes slowly, smiling. 

Gwaine looks a bit sheepish, but he’s grinning, pleased with himself. Arthur laughs and threads their fingers together. Merlin comes in, then, with breakfast. Already dressed and ready, burning with energy, beaming at them. 

“Are you ready, my lords?” Merlin asks.

“Clearly,” Arthur says, indicating his own lack of shirt and Gwaine’s un-laced tunic and under things. 

“Well, chop chop! Sir Cador awaits your pleasure, sire.”

“If you’re not careful, Merlin, I will make you accompany me to the border posts as well as to Sir Cador’s, and you will lose time with your mother.”

Arthur wouldn’t do such a thing, he rather likes Merlin’s mother, but Merlin gives him a resentful glare and dumps the breakfast things on the table, coming over towards the bed. He bows with a flourish. 

“Sire, it would be my absolute honour to help you prepare, at your own convenience of course, for your very important journey. I would also like to take this opportunity to tell you, if I may, what an incredible and wonderful blessing it is to serve you, I am glad that I am servant and you are king,” Merlin says.

Arthur frowns, something about that pinging a memory. I am glad to serve you, until the day I die. Arthur smiles, and is too caught up to be prepared for Merlin yanking off his covers and shoving him out of bed. He stumbles, sending his sword clattering from where it’s standing, into a wall.

“Up and at them, Arthur,” Merlin says. 

Arthur allows Merlin to bundle him into clothes, tug him about and stand over him to make him eat breakfast faster. He’s still got that lingering memory hovering around him, and he thinks it’s something to do with the dreams he had last night. He can’t piece any of it together, but that’s okay. It leaves a warm feeling in him and Merlin’s antics amuse, rather than annoy. It doesn’t hurt that it makes Gwaine laugh, either. 

“Ah,” Arthur says, when he finishes eating and Merlin starts clearing up, “Merlin, I think I would like-“

“No! No more food, it’s time to go,” Merlin says. 

Arthur laughs, grinning at Gwaine who is sniggering. Merlin just smiles at them and hurries out with the dishes. 

“He’s very excited,” Gwaine says. 

“Mm. It’s been too long since he saw Hunith. I was considering inviting her to come to Camelot sometimes. She would be helpful, for Gaius. Give him company and another hand about the place. Of course, she has duties of her own… I will extend the invitation, however.”

“I believe that a king inviting a commoner to his castle is unusual, sire. Perhaps Merlin should invite her.”

“If I can knight commoners I can invite them to stay. Now, I have to leave you. I need to speak with Gwenevere and Sir Leon before we leave, and I need to look in on Sir Mordred.”

“Mordred?”

“Mm. I want him to have a place when we’re not here. He’s still uncertain about that. I’m going to ask him to train hard, try and catch up with the older knights, and I will promise to spar with him when we return, to test him. Give him something to work towards.”

“Right.”

Arthur kisses Gwaine’s hair before leaving, and lingers a moment longer, just taking in Gwaine looking relaxed and almost happy. 

**

Sir Cador is as dull in his own home as he is at court. Arthur has to sit through interminable stories and Sir Cador shows him round his library of dull, dusty tomes containing dull, dusty facts about dull, dusty dead people. However, his son is a keen hunter and rider and Sir Percival and Sir Gwaine spend their time out, and they come back laughing and high on adrenaline, so Arthur forgives Sir Cador. Sir Howel and the other knights are treated well and Sir Howel turns out to be indispensable, as he sticks by Arthur and asks the questions Arthur cannot think of. It pleases Sir Cador and leaves Arthur’s mind to wander. 

He’s sitting in his rooms one evening, tired from a day of doing nothing, idly watching Merlin potter about. Merlin’s humming, still pleased, still looking forward to seeing his mother, still happy. Arthur yawns and rolls his shoulders, rubbing the muscles around the scarring that Morgana left. 

“I’m an old man, Merlin,” Arthur says, “too many things hurt these days.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not old. Which is it this time? The skewer from the campaign with what’s his name? Or the one where Leon ended up stitching your thigh closed with a needle and thread intended for other use?”

“Morgana,” Arthur says.

“Ah.”

“Is it terrible that… I mean, despite… God, Merlin, I miss her sometimes.”

Arthur gazes at the wall, stubbornly setting his face to blankness, ignoring Merlin stilling and then moving and then kneeling. 

“Sire, she is your sister. There is nothing wrong with grieving for that, for what you and she both lost. I remember her, too, as kind and gentle. And… I had more chance than anyone else to help her.”

Arthur doesn’t look at Merlin and carefully doesn’t question that. He doesn’t know why, doesn’t know how he knows not to ask too many questions, but he does. 

“I dream about her, about her as she could have been. I think my father and I destroyed her mind. Slowly but surely, we eroded it until she felt the only way was this.”

“I think you did what you could for her.”

“She had magic. She must have been so afraid, so terrified. To live with that fear! I was afraid of my father, sometimes. I had no reason. She had so many. I don’t agree with magic, I have been brought up to fear it and to think it evil, but I do know it can be used for good and I do know that sometimes those who have it cannot help it. I wish that my laws didn’t force them to live such wretched lives of terror.”

“You could always change it.”

“No. No, it is the basis of Camelot. It is fair, that no one be allowed to wield such power. I will not persecute those who poses it, only those who use it for harm. But, I wish it had been different, for Morgana. I wish she had trusted someone, had told someone.”

“I know.”

“She used to get on my nerves so much. But she was so fiercely loyal to me. She stood between me and danger more than once, aided me, loved me when I thought no one would. I loved my father, and I loved Morgana, and that was it. That was all.”

Arthur looks at Merlin, then. Merlin looks awful. He’s white as a sheet, and he’s gripping the arm of Arthur’s chair, teeth clenched, knuckles blanched. Arthur frowns. Then he sighs. There’s no way to tell what Merlin did or didn’t do, or what he feels he should have done, or what he’s thinking right now. Merlin’s a closed, locked box, sometimes. 

“Get off the floor, Merlin,” Arthur snaps, getting to his feet, “what am I to wear to the feast tonight? I think we’ll ride out early, I have been considering adding a post to my journey and that will take an extra day. You at least shall ride for Ealdor, tomorrow. I want you to take Sir Howel with you, he’s been excellent here and I want to reward him.”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin says.

He’s still pale, but he no longer looks like he’s about to keel over. 

“I am also considering sending Gwaine with you,” Arthur says, as the door opens and Gwaine strolls in, clothes stained from hunting. 

“Oh, the joys of that decision,” Gwaine says, grinning, “to be stuck in Ealdor with nothing to do, or to be stuck having to be the serious Sir Gwaine, doing his duty to the high and mighty king.”

“How come I have not yet beheaded both of you for impertinence?” Arthur mutters. 

“Because we’re too brilliant,” Gwaine says, sitting in Arthur’s vacated seat. 

Arthur looks at him, looks at the lost weight, the new lines, the tiredness, the sorrow in his eyes. Remembers all the flinches and nightmares and tears and anger. All the things Morgana destroyed. Then he turns away, to Merlin, who’s watching him with pity in his eyes. The colour’s back in his cheeks, though, and he’s holding out a jacket and boots, so Arthur only rolls his eyes at the softness. Merlin snorts and shakes his head at that, so Arthur gives him a wide, teeth-filled grin. 

“Oh shut up,” Merlin mutters. 

Arthur gets into the jacket and boots, then examines his trousers. 

“Should I change these? Gwaine, will you wear mail and carry a blade so I can be naked, as it were?”

“Yeah, sure. Sir Percival will, at any rate. Try getting him out of that cloak and mail.”

Arthur considers it, then laughs. 

“Is that something you fantasize about, Gwaine?” Arthur asks, then freezes. 

The elephant in the room is always sex. Gwaine doesn’t speak of it, doesn’t let it happen, doesn’t join in when it comes up and usually leaves or changes the subject. Arthur glances at Merlin, who also looks like he’s waiting for something to happen. They both turn to Gwaine, slowly, apprehensively. He looks shocked, but not bad. Not unhappy.

“I did, once. Fantasize,” Gwaine says, absently, “he’s so… big, you know? But not for a long time. I grew fond of this utter prat of a prince, you see, and now I cannot see beyond him.”

Arthur meets Gwaine’s eyes, and Gwaine looks uncertain, but he’s not about to bolt. 

“Oh,” Arthur says. 

“This prince no longer speaks of someone he was once very fond of, because he knows it would pain me. I walked in, a little earlier, and overheard, sire. Is that the dream you keep from me?” Gwaine asks, getting to his feet and coming to stand before Arthur, hand on his neck, meeting his eyes, “It is painful for me, to hear. To think that you love the woman who destroyed something of me. I am able to hear it, though, without shattering. As I am able to hear you joke about me fantasizing, and to change the subject or leave if I am uncomfortable, or ask you to change it or leave. I am not made of spun sugar, and you need not censor yourself. You made me promise to tell you if something upset me, allow me to do that.”

Gwaine kisses Arthur, then. It’s only the second time, since he returned from Morgana’s prison, and Arthur cannot help but give in to it, to allow Gwaine to take all he wants, all he needs. He shuts his eyes and breathes, lips still pressed to Gwaine’s, sharing breath. Merlin clears his throat. 

“Merlin, get out,” Arthur says. 

“Yes, sire.”

Gwaine kisses him again, steering him backwards, sitting him on the bed. He presses close and Arthur can feel his arousal, can feel the passion in him, the way his hands roam, his lips insistent, hips close. 

“Can I… can I touch?” Arthur asks. 

“Please. I want you to return that favour you promised me.”

Arthur kisses Gwaine, this time. He allows Gwaine to lead, and gives space for him to back away, but he lets himself touch, lets himself peel Gwaine out of his clothes. He allows Gwaine to stop him, too, so Gwaine is left in his underthings. He unlaces his britches and kisses down his stomach. 

“Is this okay?” He asks, “is this good?”

“Yes.”

He asks again, and again, but he keeps going and when Gwaine moans he cannot help himself, he rocks up and tugs Gwaine onto the bed, rolling them into the middle, letting Gwaine straddle him. They don’t get much further than frantic rubbing and hands, kissing, touching, but it’s so good and so very good. Arthur climaxes against Gwaine’s stomach, far too loudly, and Gwaine follows moments later, wet into Arthur’s fist. They lie on their backs, hands joined. 

“Oh,” Arthur says, “that was…”

“Awesome,” Gwaine agrees. 

He tugs away too quickly and dresses himself, goes to stand by the window. Arthur gives him space, cleaning himself up and tugging on the clothes Merlin picked out for him. He waits, standing in the middle of the room, watching Gwaine. 

“I’m alright,” Gwaine says, “I just need a minute.”

“Alright. Do you have what you need, here?”

“Mm. I left a whole load of crap here this morning, so I’ll come down in a bit.”

“Good. If you need to stay here, feel free, and if you need anything, or… if you need me… um… Sir Howel’s at the door.”

Arthur goes, leaving Gwaine to his thoughts. He can feel, still, a thrum in his body, arousal and adrenaline and something else, something fond and warm. Merlin runs and catches him up somewhere along the way, grinning broadly. 

“So?” Merlin asks. 

“Nosey,” Arthur says. 

“I am indeed. Is he okay?”

“Think so. Will be.”

“Good.”

Merlin stops him and tuts, straightening his jacket and untucking his tunic from his trousers, adjusts his belt and flattens his hair before letting him move on. 

“Can’t even dress yourself, sire,” Merlin says. 

Arthur shoves him into the wall and laughs too loudly, delighted when Merlin just nudges him back. 

**


	4. chapter four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING; aftermath of rape, minor cannon death mentioned, grief

Arthur yawns. He’s tired; they’ve been riding all day and he didn’t sleep well last night, he stayed late at the feast hoping Gwaine would come down and then Gwaine had vanished. Arthur found him asleep in Percival’s quarters, but only after rousting Merlin and searching for him. Then he’d had trouble falling asleep, caught up in his thoughts. In the end he’d sent Howel with Merlin, early, and then had a nap before saying his goodbyes and going on a final tour of Sir Cador’s estate. 

“How much further are we riding?” Percival asks, coming up beside Arthur. 

“I think we’ll sleep at the border post tonight, then try and see two tomorrow and the last the day after before heading to Ealdor to collect Merlin. We’ll sleep in Ealdor, I think.”

“Sire?” Percival says. 

“Oh. Right. Half an hour or so.”

“Good. I think Gwaine may need to rest.”

“Did he not sleep well?” Arthur asks, carefully not adding ‘either’.

Percival doesn’t answer, just looks back. Arthur sighs and reigns in his horse, waving Percival to take over the lead with Sir Ector, and drops back to ride with Gwaine. Gwaine looks as tired as Arthur feels, and his eyes are distant, slightly glassy. Arthur yawns again and leans forward, taking his weight off this thighs and bum.

“Are you sore?” Gwaine asks. 

“Mm. Stiff. I didn’t sleep well last night and I think I may have pulled a muscle in my thigh,” Arthur says, which is true, though he’s mostly grumbling to get Gwaine’s attention.

“When did you manage to pull a muscle, swanning about in that old heap of a house?” Gwaine asks, amusement overriding whatever emotion Arthur had interrupted. 

“Ah. You participated in my only recent… exertion,” Arthur says, not bothering to fight the blush or the smile that creep up on him.

Gwaine laughs and Arthur relaxes, watching his head go back, his eyes brighten, the darkness lifting away for now. He likes to watch Gwaine laugh, likes the way it’s so complimentary to his personality, so free, so uncaring of anyone’s opinion. There’s nothing self conscious about it, nothing forced. 

“Thanks, I needed that,” Gwaine says, when he calms. 

“I really did pull a muscle, you know,” Arthur grumbles. 

“Oh no, poor you.”

“Shut up. You should be more sympathetic, seeing as it’s entirely your fault I’m in pain.”

“Don’t worry,” Gwaine says, blithely, “I’ll just avoid that particular activity in future, shall I?”

“Did I say pain?” Arthur says, “I meant to say you are a giant among men, Gwaine, to do such beautiful damage to me.”

“Beautiful damage?” Gwaine asks, half laughing again. 

Arthur hesitates, then meets Gwaine’s eyes. 

“Yes. Beautiful damage. I think, though, that most of it belongs to you. And it is so beautiful, it really is.”

Gwaine scowls and licks his lips, so Arthur nudges Llamrei closer so their legs are brushing and shushes him. 

“It is beautiful to see the strength you have inside, my knight, to see you discovering the goodness inside of you. What Morgana did to you is ugly, but what you have done with that ugliness is incredible. Every moment, every breath, every part of you is… Gwenevere is my wife, and I love her very much, but you… I am yours, Sir Gwaine. You have my service.”

“Camelot comes first,” Gwaine reminds, trying for lightness, uncomfortable. 

“Only as far as it must, as far as I trust you to care for yourself.”

Arthur lengthens the space between them, then, leaving Gwaine to consider that. Gwaine gapes at him, then starts singing the song Arthur has been humming to him, quietly. 

“What is that?” Arthur asks, “That song?”

“You were singing it to me,” Gwaine says, giving him an odd look.

“I think someone sang it to me when I was very young.”

“My mother used to sing it. My father sang it the way you do, with the strange words, but my mother sang it in our tongue. I think… I think it is a song adapted from the Druids,” Gwaine says.

“Yes, I think so, too.”

Gwaine starts singing again when Arthur doesn’t say anything more and they ride in companionable quiet, Gwaine’s voice very soft, the words almost indistinguishable. They’re similar to Merlin’s translation, but less rough, more musical, they fit better. They reach the post as the sun begins to sink. 

Arthur lets Percival, Gwaine and Ector off duty, then dismisses the guards. He looks over the quarters for the knights, checks the defences, talks to the knight in charge and then retreats to the small room that’s been set aside for him. There’s food there, set out on the small table, and a fire. Gwaine’s sat with his feet up, eating Arthur’s sausages. 

“Oi,” Arthur says, pushing Gwaine’s feet off the table, “my food.”

“There’s plenty, the squire who brought it has something of an obsession with you, he brought lots extra.”

Arthur can see that Gwaine is right, and it was mostly for show anyway, so he pushes the plate close to Gwaine and rests his head in his hands, trying to rub away exhaustion and the headache that he’s only just become aware of.

“Are you really in pain?” Gwaine asks, round a mouthful.

“Hmm? Oh, my thigh. No. Just wanted attention, really. I’m just tired, Gwaine. Just… tired.”

“Am I making that worse?”

Arthur opens his mouth, but he’s pretty much used up his words for today so he just shakes his head and goes to the fire, trying to warm himself. 

“You should eat, sire,” Gwaine says, “there’s some chicken here, and some bread. I could see if that squire can rustle up a hot mug of something?”

“No, thank you. I’ll eat in a bit, I’m not actually feeling all that well right now,” Arthur says, frowning. 

“Headache?”

“Yes. And I’m tired, and sore, and my stomach feels a little unsettled. I think I’m just…”

“Tired. Out of sorts? Missing Merlin?”

“Shut up.”

Arthur yawns, eyes closing with it, and so misses Gwaine coming to him and wrapping his arms around him from behind. He starts a little before settling into the embrace, keeping his eyes closed, soaking up Gwaine’s warmth and closeness. 

“Missed this,” he admits. 

“Me too. Thank you, for giving me space.”

“I’ve seen people harmed in many ways in the past, I have spoken to them, listened to them. I take no credit.”

“Unusual. Usually you grab credit with both hands.”

Arthur makes a sound of protest that comes out sounding more like a cow than anything else, and feels Gwaine’s laughter through him. He stays there a while, until he feels a bit better, resting. Gwaine seems perfectly relaxed and happy, so Arthur lets himself be looked after, cared for. 

“You have my service, too, Arthur,” Gwaine says, softly, “Always.”

“Thank you,” Arthur says, turning his head to offer a kiss, which Gwaine accepts, “I think I could eat a little now.”

He actually manages to eat rather a lot, once Gwaine starts telling a few of the new stories he’s gathered from the men here and gets Arthur laughing too hard, forgetting to focus on the vague headache and the fatigue tugging at him. Arthur repays the favour by telling Gwaine about Sir Cador and turning the boredom into various imitations, anecdotes of the things Cador said and gentle teasing over the way Gwaine ran as far away from that as he could to hunt and ride and be merry. 

Gwaine stays with him that night, close enough to offer warmth and comfort, to touch. Arthur sleeps very well and wakes up plastered to Gwaine’s back, arms wrapped round his chest, Gwaine holding onto his wrist and snoring. 

**

They’re fatigued but in good spirits when they ride into Elador. Space has been made for them to be billeted in various houses and space made for their horses with the other livestock. Merlin bows and offers Arthur a hand down before laughing and tugging gently on his boot and letting him dismount. 

“Had a good visit, Merlin?” Arthur asks, patting Llamrei’s flank and running a hand over her soft nose in thanks for bearing him before letting her be lead away. 

“I have. Sire, thank you so much,” Merlin says, horribly earnest. 

“I had duties in the vicinity,” Arthur says, and holds up a hand, warning Merlin that there’s an end to it, “Now, my men will rest and then they will help out in payment for the hospitality of the village. Sir Percival?”

“Yes, sire?”

“Get the men situated. Allow them all the rest they need, but ensure that they understand that they are expected to offer their strength anywhere it may be needed.”

“Yes, sire.”

Gwaine comes up and slaps Merlin on the back before subsiding by Arthur’s side, tired out. 

“Merlin, we need to rest also. I’m afraid I rather pushed things, to cover the distance. I wanted to allow a rest, here, before the journey home,” Arthur says.

“Right. You’re sleeping at ours. Mum’s given up her bed, you two can share that for now.”

“Hunith shouldn’t have-“

“She’s going to sleep with a friend. You’re not leaving her in the fields. Also, a lot of this place needs re-building and work, still; the knights’ help will be gratefully received.”

“Good.”

Merlin smiles and leads them to the little hovel Arthru remembers from previous times. Hunith has cleaned and tidied and Arthur thanks Merlin, careful not to let any of his feelings about the size and overall condition of the place show. It’s not that he feels it’s below him, though it clearly is. He doesn’t mind putting himself on an equal footing with his people, he never has. He just can’t believe that people manage to live like this, live in worse conditions, and still be as kind and wise as Hunith, still be as… well, still be Merlin. 

“Arthur?” Gwaine says, snapping Arthur out of his thoughts, “are you going to rest, or gaze at the wall all afternoon?”

“Sorry. I was just thinking. Where did Merlin go?”

“He went to help out around the place. He told you, you replied.”

“I did?”

“Yes.”

Arthur turns to Gwaine, shaking himself, and helps him undress. Gwaine returns the favour and they squeeze onto the small bed, glad of the warmth. Arthur yawns and Gwaine falls right asleep, but thought he’s tired, Arthur cannot get there. He lies with his eyes shut, breathing even, until Merlin slips back in. 

“Merlin.”

“Oh! You startled me, Arthur! I thought you were both asleep.”

“Gwaine is.”

Merlin comes and sits on the floor, back to the bed, head on the mattress so he can look at Arthur. 

“Why aren’t you?”

“I’m resting, just not asleep. Too much to think about. I have a few duties to attend to, when we return to Camelot, regarding the posts. There are one or two men who could do with some time to visit family, and there’s a squire who is far too young to be stationed so far from his family. I need to talk to Leon about that, he needs to keep in mind the men who travel with the knights.”

“And Gwiane? And Morgana?”

“Gwaine is getting there. Morgana is… Morgana tried to break Gwaine, and the more he recovers, the more I cannot forgive that. The more he recovers, the more she becomes his attacker. Oh Merlin, people do destroy themselves when they are afraid, don’t they?”

“Sometimes.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Of?”

“Me. Some law. For your mother. I don’t know. I’m not some simpleton, though; I know you carry secrets with you. Are you afraid, of them?”

“I am not afraid of you,” Merlin says, carefully, after hesitating.

“I wish to invite your mother to visit the castle, to visit Camelot, as often as she wishes. I will offer her an escort, as many of the younger knights have family on the borders out here, and I want to keep a closer eye on things after the recent unrest so there will be more coming and going at the posts.”

“I would like to see her more often. She has duties here, though.”

“mm. Can you tell me something?”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Make something up! I want to rest and my thoughts will not slow.”

“Alright,” Merlin says, and then he’s silent for a while. Arthur pokes him, “stop it, I’m thinking. I was born here, you know, in this room. My first memory is here.”

“What was it?”

“Will. Playing here, on the floor, with Will.”

“Oh.”

Merlin goes on, meandering through the memories of him and Will, voice low and absent, as if he’s talking to himself. Arthur turns his head to listen better, but he dozes off somewhere in the middle and when he wakes it’s to the press of Gwaine’s sweaty back and he’s once more plastered across his knight. Merlin’s gone. 

**

They rest at Ealdor for four days, in the end. They help out with building and Arthur spends a lot of time lifting and carrying heavy things. In the evening he sits around the fire with his men and they tell stories, but in the evening Arthur makes them train, and makes them spar with anyone from the village who wishes to learn. He plays with the younger boys and girls, letting them chase him and climb on him, mostly in an attempt to escape conversation and socialising. 

The day before they leave he sits with Hunith, passing her willow to weave into a basket for storage, watching her face. She’s so open, and there’s so much of Merlin in her; his expressions, the quick gestures of his hands, the slight accent he carries, the way he speaks to Arthur as if they have always been equals. Arthur enjoys it, enjoys the companionship and quiet. 

“You are very good to Merlin, sire,” Hunith says, after a long while of sitting quietly. 

“He’s become very important to the court and well being of my knights. He seems to have garnered many of their regards and affections,” Arthur says. 

“He’s a good boy. Or he tries, anyway. He gets carried away, now and again.”

Arthur snorts, too amused to stop himself. 

“I think he is rather wise than good, rather enthusiastic and stubborn, rather… I’m not sure good is the correct word,” Arthur says, grinning.

“Perhaps not.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Oh yes, of course. Always.”

“Would you feel better if you knew that you are always welcome to visit him? To come to Camelot as a guest? My men will be in these parts more often, and will be able to offer you company for the journey and horses to spare your legs.”

“That is generous.”

“Whenever you wish to take up the offer, it is there.”

“Sir Gwaine. Is he…?”

“He is my… He is my lover, I suppose.”

“And Gwenever? Excuse me asking, it is not my place.”

“I believe that it was you who taught Merlin to have such utter disregard for my position,” Arthur says, amused again. Hunith looks a little afraid for a moment, so he hurries to reassure her, “thank you. He has been a good friend to me, though I rarely admit it and never to him. In so many words.”

“I see.”

“Gwenever and I have an understanding. We love one another and are dear to one another, she makes a very good queen and is a loyal wife. She is, in many ways, my best friend and in all ways she is my closest ally. However, she is not and never has been my lover.”

“Ah. I understand.”

“Thank you. There is no dishonour in my taking lovers, but I know that many see it as disloyal of Gwen. She is not disloyal.”

“No, I see that.”

They settle again into silence and Arthur passes her willow again. They only comment on passing people, the weather, the changing sky. They leave the darker, deeper subjects alone.

**

When they return to Camelot Arthur greets Gwen, kisses her cheek, checks in with Leon and then goes to bed to sleep the afternoon away. He wakes up, in what is becoming routine, plastered against Gwaine’s back. 

“You, my king, are a right nuisance in bed,” Gwaine says, sensing Arthur’s awakening. 

“I am?”

“Yes. You migrate. Wherever I lie, you get steadily closer until you have me, then you try to get closer still, as if you want to crawl under my skin, and then you latch on and I cannot escape.”

“I am sorry?”

“Don’t be. I rather like it.”

“Are you comfortable?”

“With this, yes. I still wish to take the other things slow, I still do want you to always return the favour or assume that I wish to be touched in that way.”

“But you alright to sleep like this? I would like you to stay, as often as possible. I rather like this, too.”

“I will stay. As often as possible.”

“Good! That’s excellent news. I must, however, leave you. Sadly, I have duties I must see you now that I have rested a little.”

“You get tired, Arthur,” Gwaine says, hesitantly, “since Sir Cador’s. You seem to need to sleep a lot.”

Arthur shrugs, not wanting to talk about that now. 

“It’s just from the traveling,” Arthur says, brushing it aside. 

Gwaine narrows his eyes at Arthur as he climbs out of bed, but he leaves it for now and waves Arthur away. 

**

When Arthur wakes a few days later Gwaine is sat at the table, watching Arthur, face stern. 

“What?” Arthur asks, still sleepy and fuzzy, “did Merlin bring breakfast?”

“Yes, and Gwen came by to tell you not to bother with the council this morning, she will take your place and make a report. Apparently you were very tired last night, when you were dining with her. Again.”

“I dine with her too often?”

“You are tired too often.”

Arthur sighs. This is expected, though, so he’s ready. He gets out of bed and goes to sit with Gwaine. 

“I am truly fine,” Arthur says, “but. I am tired. I have been worried, for you, for a long while. I have not slept well. I have been worried about Morgana and the kingdom, too, but worried very much for you. Now, I am not. It has been tiring, and when you seemed so much better, after Sir Cador’s, after you felt recovered enough to… and to sleep with me more regularly, and let me latch on like that, I just let it go. I no longer need to care for you or worry for you.”

“I like you worrying for me.”

“I always will do, but what I mean is that I am no longer afraid for you.”

“Oh. And that’s it?”

“I promise.”

They sit in silence, Gwaine seems done with the questions, so Arthur starts in on breakfast. He’s half way through when Gwaine talks again. 

“It was what you said,” he says, “about trusting me to look after myself. I didn’t, until that moment, trust myself. I was glad to have that. You made me see some strength in myself, also, that I hadn’t noticed before. It gave me something new to focus on, something to aim towards. I want you to always see that, I want to see it again. And now I sometimes do, I have moments, sometimes, where I see what you see.”

“I fixed you,” Arthur says, smugly, and Gwaine bursts out laughing, breaking the heavy mood. 

“Shut up and eat, sire.”

“You shouldn’t order me around.”

“As I remember it, you serve me,” Gwaine says, voice intent. 

He gets up and comes to lean over Arthur, turning his chair, bending for a kiss that deepens and initiating the kind of touching that is still so incredibly rare. Arthur ends up being late for everything, that day. 

**

When Arthur hears the news of Sir Ranulf’s death he feels another piece of his life falling away, breaking off to join Morgana and Agravain, his father, his mother. He retreats to his rooms, accepts comfort from Gwen and Merlin, and then goes to hide in the stables with Henogren and Llamrei. He feeds them hay, grooms them, then goes to sit in the hayloft. Which is where Gwaine finds him. 

“Are you alright, sire?” Gwaine asks, climbing up beside him.

“No. Ranulf was a very good friend. We were children together. He was the only friend I had, before Merlin came and changed things. He was the only friend I had. I lose everyone, Gwaine. It’s not fair that so many go.”

“I know it’s not fair. Grief is never fair.”

“For a while, I thought perhaps I would lose you.”

“You never told me that. I thought you always saw me inside somewhere, even when I was awful.”

“No, not like that. I didn’t know if I’d ever… I didn’t know if you’d ever want me anymore. And Morgana… after what she did to you, there is no fixing that.”

“I do want you, and so do many here. Morgana is someone you’ll just have to grieve for, I think.”

“Ranulf was the only person who always saw me. To everyone else, I have been prince and king and commander. Even you thought little of me, to begin with. Even Merlin. I have to prove myself to everyone I meet, always. But Ranulf never asked that of me. We were so young, I suppose he just didn’t know better, but he always saw me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Arthur sighs and leans into Gwaine, for a moment, then he pulls away and tries to shake a little of his mood off. 

“Well, come. We have lots to do, Sir Gwaine. Plans to make, decisions, quests to complete. Are you ready to set out on an adventure with little hope, so much in the balance, all that?”

“I am. Shall we bring Merlin along?”

“If I tried to leave him behind he would only trail after us.”

Arthur climbs down from the hayloft and is about to return to the world, to his duty, when Gwaine stops him with a hand on his arm and pulls him in for a kiss. Arthur’s just getting into it when Gwaine starts to grope him and Arthur has to shove him away, laughing, or go back to the castle with an awkward bump. He allows Gwaine to put a hand on his arse till they reach the door, then he pushes it away and straightens himself out. He exchanges a long look with Gwaine, taking the time to make sure they really are both okay, and then they return to the world.


End file.
